


To Civility

by BID



Series: Open Ended OS [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, BAMF Harry Potter, Gen, Hogwarts Eighth Year, dorm mates, harry has a pet snake, praseltongue, regretful Draco, something's wrong with harry, with anger issues i'd say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4063771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BID/pseuds/BID
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco both have their own issues when arriving for their 8th year in Hogwarts. </p>
<p>One has to face that he's been without options for far too long, and try to right his wrongs, or atleast not get mauled by 'fellow students' while wanting to finish his education. </p>
<p>The other's magic is barely in control, is incredibly frustrated with it and <em>goddamnit</em> he just wants to have <em>one</em> year in Hogwarts to be <strong>normal</strong>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Civility

**Author's Note:**

> This was suposed to run as Drarry, but can also just be read as friendship.
> 
> Hi,  
> I'm clearing out my WIP folder of fics and posting the ones I particularly like despite the fact that they are not finished, because they probably never will for various reasons. But I just like them too much to just let them rot in some sub-folder.
> 
> Hopefully I'll be able to lay these to rest and work on the fics that really matter, that I REALLY need to work on (*cough* Chaos of Worship *cough*). Because I have the tendency to just stare to old wips instead and agonize of this word or another, instead of writing anything at all.
> 
> Maybe you'll enjoy them either way, or that they give someone ideas.  
> If you want to continue one of these or use it as a 'base' send me a mail n we can talk, yes? It's in my profile.
> 
> Have fun!

The 'eight year' in Hogwarts was for all the seventh years who'd been actively dragged into the war (by either side). All other classes stayed at their grade, repeating the year for optimal results in the newfound peace.

And for all that Harry was really looking forward to it, _really_ looking forward to it, considering that this was the first school year he'd ever have without a madman trying to kill him.  
There was only one thing, one little thing that he thought might make it quite hard to have a 'normal' year (except of course for the part where he was the-boy-who-lived-again (-and-again-and-again-and- err...yeah). His magic.  
Turns out that having part of a madman stuck in your head saps off a lot of magic, in turn his magical core had adapted and overproduced magic to compensate the loss.  
So, _with_ Voldemort leeching or blocking off the main part of his magic he was already considered a very powerful wizard.  
Now though he had magic in abundance. He'd always felt it (even if he hadn't always known what it was). He'd always felt his magic like a deep pool in his center, but now he could feel it overflowing, filling every inch of his body and saturating him in magic, and he was really glad that his body was actually _built_ to hold this much. According to the doctors at Mungo's any other wizard would have plainly disintegrated, ex or imploded.

But harry could deal with that, with that feeling of overflowing.  
The real problem was using that magic, or to be precise _not_ using it.

Wands were an impossibility for him, he had even consulted Olivander himself if he may be able to make a wand strong enough for the outpour of magic he created with every spell, but to no avail.  
Instead he found himself thinking 'I should really wash the dishes.' in the small apartment kitchen he owned over the summer holidays, a moment late they stood neat, clean and sorted on the small kitchen counter.

For the 'simple' things like rearranging objects, Wingadium Leviosa or Accio he didn't even have to look anymore at the goal of his 'spell', and more than once he found work done he'd only thought about (without the intention of magicing it so). Slightly harder spells like Reparo or transfiguration only needed eye contact, rarely words and more complicated things like a Patronus charm for example was only ever a hand wave away.

It was...useful, but somehow the lack of control also felt discomforting.

 

\- - -

Draco felt horrible.

He felt horrible for being this snobby asshole as a kid and for not being strong enough to go against his father's wishes and _not_ become a Death Eater. He felt horrible for the things he had seen, let happen and oh gods the things he's _done_! Just because he had been too afraid, too cowardly to go to one of the order members and ask for help.  
None of them would have probably helped him, they would have scoffed at him.  
The only one where he truly believed might have helped him if he'd had the gall was Potter.

Potter.

Draco hadn't seen him after the Dark Lord's death until Hogwarts had reopened and they'd ended up sitting next to each other at the eight years' table strangely enough. Draco couldn't fathom why Potter just sat down next to him, everyone else kept well away from 'The Death Eater'.  
But he and Granger just sat there opposite to each other, right next to the space that he occupied and talked about something random Draco really couldn't make himself listen to.  
For a few minutes it seemed as if they'd just ignore him, except when he couldn't properly reach the pitcher of juice on Potter's other side he'd just handed it over with a smile.  
It was plain. No malice, no mocking, no sneering, not strained or forced or anything at all. Just a simple smile that seemed genuine enough, and then he turned back to Granger and continued their conversation.

It was about the merits of muggle pens over quills.

He blended them out.

\- - - 

The common room for eighth years was laid out in neutral cream and purple tones, a combination that strangely enough didn't look as feminine or horrible as it sounded. Since they were underground (a formerly unused section of the dungeons) a couple of fireplaces had been installed to keep out the chill and an entire side of the wall gave view into the lake. Draco though didn't stay to enjoy the company of people he'd stood against in a war just half a year ago, and instead went straight up to the dorms.

To Draco's surprise the dorm rooms weren't laid out for four people as he'd dreaded but expected.  
Instead there were only two beds, desks, closets and sofas, with plenty of space for each of them, the room even had its own rudimentary but elegant bathroom to be shared with whomever his dorm partner would be. Maybe he'd be lucky and be on his own, he did choose the last room on the corridor, but when had he ever been lucky.

So instead of dreading about it he just laid down onto the bed right next to the window and listened to his clothes (thank god eighth years only were required to wear the robes over their own clothes instead of a full uniform!) pop into his closet and the trunk drop onto the floor and under the bed, just as Prof- Headmaster McGonagall said it'd happen for the eighth years so they could choose their own dorm mates.  
Then he just lay there and enjoyed the silence.

The dreaded sound of the door opening and someone walking in happened only twenty minutes later. Draco lay carefully still and listened to whom it was (because stupid him had lain down with his back to the door).  
Someone came in, steps firm but almost silent and the air suddenly seemed to press down onto him twice as hard, what made Draco sit up quickly and check who it was. The wand that barely accepted him as owner in hand and ready to defend himself against whoever though it would be a great idea to attack a Malfoy (not that his family name had power anymore, not really).

But before he could Identify the dark silhouette in the room he heard the _magically enhanced_ glass panes behind him rattle, saw the cup from the unoccupied bed fling itself against the wall and shatter simultaneously with every mirror in the room, and watched how everything just put itself back together again as if nothing had happened. The person (back still to Draco and hood up) threw himself onto the bed, his belongings popped into existence.

The blonde couldn't even say anything, as instantly the distinctive sound of enraged praseltongue hissed through the air, louder than it had any right to be and Draco didn't even recognise his own voice when it made a strangled sound, the hissing pulling memories of the Dark Lord to the forefront of his mind he really didn't want to remember. Especially not now.

The sounds instantly stopped, and gravity seemed to return to its normal levels making Draco feel lightheaded as the person sat up hurriedly. Now in the dim light of the lake's water Draco could actually see who it was (besides it's not like there were any other students who could talk to snakes).

"Malfoy!" Potter said looking sheepish, "I thought I was alone, uh, sorry about that?"

Draco narrowed his eyes, silently daring Potter to pity him or the like, but he really couldn't see anything the like in it.  
"Sorry about losing control and smashing things, or talking to yourself in Praseltongue?"

Potter snorted and said, "I was talking to her." while lifting up his hand, showing Draco a small white snake intertwined with his fingers as it turned to him and nodded it's head after the Gryffindor hissed something at it. "Does it bother you?"

"Of course not." Draco instantly answered, keeping himself from snapping at his dorm mate. It really wouldn't do to alienate the only one who had treated him normally so far, so he just let himself drop onto the bed again. "Just keep it down."

"Will do." Potter just answered as Draco could hear him get up to rummage through something and walk over to the Slytherin's side of the room, stopping right next to the bed.  
Draco opened his eyes again and tried to look as nonchalant as possible, but when he saw a wand pointed at him his mask hardened and almost flinched. Until he realised that it was the wands handle pointed at him.  
_His_ wand's handle!

Instantly he sat up again, practically snatching the familiar piece of wood out of Potters hand, revelling in the feeling of rightness that overcame him while holding it. He instantly dropped the wrong wand he'd made due with since he'd 'lost' his out of the arm holster, looking up at Potter with wide eyes and a faint smile he wasn't entirely aware of, "How- Why?"

"I tried to owl you a couple of times over the summer, but they couldn't find you. I wanted to give it back. Someone else's wand never feels quite right, so I figured that at least you should have yours back if I can help it. It's quite moody you know, but always up for the task when push comes to shove." Potter said, words drifting off a bit as he stared at the hawthorn wand oddly fond, like it was this cat from hell you just wouldn't get rid of no matter how many times it pisses into your shoes.

"Where's yours?“ Draco asked lightly, staring at Potter's collar where the snake glimpsed out with red eyes, looking at him. Potter though just grimaced and turned away, snake still staring over the Griffindor's shoulder.

"Gone."

No further conversation was made that evening aside from "Good night." and adding the opposite's surname.

\- - - -

When Draco woke up he felt actually rested for once, until he realised there was something wrapped around his throat.  
Within moments he had it ripped off and tossed at the foot end of his bed, to his surprise it was Potter's white snake, barely as long as his lower arm landing on the duvet.  
It quickly rolled itself into a circle and hissed at him, but before Draco could even react it slithered off his bed and out of sight.  
"Great. Just great." he thought as he got up and opened the bathroom door.

Potter was in the shower, silhouette barely visible behind the misted glass, _Brilliant._ and Draco decided that he didn't give a fuck, he needed to piss.  
"Keep your pet out of my bed, Potter."

There was a yelp, the squeak of skin slipping on tiles and a resounding crash as the silhouette slipped with arms flailing. The heel of a foot fell against the glass, then silence. For a moment Draco wondered if he'd just witnessed the saviour of the wizarding world die in the shower while packing it in, when he could hear a faint "Ow."

"You alright there Potter? Showering too complicated for you?" Draco quipped while slathering his toothbrush in paste.

"Didn't anyone teach you to _knock_?" Potter almost yelled, and Draco could barely hear the hissed "Ow, fuck, my head." over the noise of the shower.

"Why would I, it's my bathroom." He answered with a mouth full foam, watching Potter's silhouette right itself and probably rinse away the soap.

"It's _our_ bathroom!"

"That makes it 50% mine."

"That's not how it- urgh. Whatever! Hand me a towel you git." Potter demanded stretching a hand out from behind the glass wall that covered three quarters of the shower stall.

Draco looked at it for a moment in thought and then simply answered, "I'm not your servant, Potter."

He fully expected Potter to become uncomfortable or embarrassed of his nudity. Instead the hand dropped out of view and Potter just- just walked out of the shower stall, flushed and dripping from the hot water, ink black hair wet and impossibly _still_ sticking up into every direction, rivulets running down his thin frame and Draco only realised that he was staring (following the waters path down, down- ) when his toothbrush dropped out of his hand into the sink, and quickly ripped his eyes away from the lean body.  
There was not a single scar to be seen, and before his appreciation for that body could even start properly forming he just sneered.  
"You glamour yourself, no one gets through a war scar less."

To his disdain Potter just answered in a bland tone "I do." while he left the room with a towel firmly wrapped around his hips.

Only once Draco stood under the shower himself, staring at the long, thin scar on his chest did he realise that the answer, which initially sounded like a dismissal, was actually a confirmation if one only changed the inflection from one word to the other.  
_I_ do _glamour myself, because no one got through this war scar less, not even the boy who lived._

When he left the bathroom Potter was already gone and the god forsaken snake with him.

\- - - - 

"So, you two are sharing a room?" Granger looked disbelieving between Draco and Potter as they sat at breakfast in the same formation as dinner last evening. But her face quickly changed into curiosity as she began to grin and raise her coffee cup, "I suppose celebrations are in order, you managed not to disfigure or kill each other after spending twelve hours in the same room. To civility!"

Draco snorted, finding himself (surprisingly) genuinely amused at Granger's dry humour. "Hardly. I woke up with his bloody snake trying to strangle me, does that not count?"  
Within an instant Potter seemed to sink lower into the bench as she glared at him, "Snake?! Harry that's against the school policy!"

"Can you even count the amount of times we've broken the rules? Besides, I couldn't leave Septum at home, Mione, I need her." Potter quickly defended himself, but to Draco's surprise he silenced Granger oncoming lecture (he'd seen that expression often enough all the way over from the Slytherin's table) with a gesture and looked at him, "And she's a glutton, that's all. I told her to leave you alone, so it shouldn't happen again, sorry." 

Before he even had time to process that answer or criticise Potter on naming it (her?) _Septum_ the familiar cries of hundreds of owls filled the great hall, and to Draco's shock (but not surprise) at least half of them were flying into _their_ direction, and he could see a good number of howlers from here already!  
Most of them (including the majority of the howlers) were dumped onto a pile in rapid order, covering Potter's plate within seconds, the rest, of course went to him.  
Draco hadn't even time to lift his wand (his, _his_ hawthorn wand!) to point at the struggling pile in front of him where the howlers were trying to righten themselves, as Potter's spontaneously (ha-ha, yeah- No.) caught fire, so he went for the simpler method and quickly shoved his mail on top of the Griffindor's, turning it all into a pile of ashes within seconds.

He couldn't help but notice that Potter hadn't made a single move during the whole ordeal, and watching him walk away, robe slung over one of his arms he could see that Potter's back pockets, his usual place to carry his wand, were empty. 

"Ahem." 

Quickly he turned back to Granger who looked at him disbelievingly, mouth almost gaping.  
"Did you just check out Harry?!" 

"No." Draco answered blandly (ignoring the fact that Potter _did_ have a great arse in those Jeans), "He did not use a wand. He isn't even carrying one, as I doubt he'd break seven years of habit carrying it in his back pocket. Yesterday he didn't notice me when he came into our room, broke and put together every glass and mirror, even made the windowpane rattle, ranted in praseltongue more aggressive than the- than _he_ ever had and, well, it was rather hard to breathe."

He carefully observed Granger's expression, seeing recognition and distrust. So she knew what he was talking about. She carefully pulled out her bracelet and put it onto the table, spinning it in a circle. Instantly tightly meshed privacy wards sprung up around them while no one else seemed wiser of it. Very interesting!

"Knut for your thoughts? Or a hint. I don't really expect you of all people to tell me what's going on, considering the way I treated you before. For what's its worth, I'm sorry." Draco took a deep breath, now that it was said (it had to be said) carefully looking anywhere but Grangers face.

After an uncomfortably long minute of silence Granger simply asked, "Why would you care, Malfoy?"  
It was spoken as an actual question, not mocking, and looking at her carefully he could see that she was genuinely interested for his answer. Or at least genuinely interested in what was going on.

"I'm worried because the way he is losing control, the way it manifests is exactly the same as that from the Dar- "  
Draco closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath, opened them again and looked Granger straight into the eyes.  
"Voldemort. It's the same way Voldemort used to lose control when he was, let's call it 'livid'. At least when he wasn't randomly putting others under crucio. _That's_ why I'm worried."

Granger covered her mouth with her hands, looking throughoutly shocked, but quickly recovered.  
"Swear that you will talk to no one about this except for me and Harry!"


End file.
